


i'll never leave you (but you're hard to love)

by kailypso



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: First Love, Growing Up, Kid Fic, M/M, Slice of Life, Sorry Not Sorry, Time Skips, Unrequited Love, age gap is two years, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 11,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kailypso/pseuds/kailypso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Track 1: Somethin’ Stupid - Frank Sinatra

**Author's Note:**

> fic playlist [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwgAgqvKqt8NB-h4C8k7JIHF_osEsVREA).

Jongin breathes in the crisp air, almost tasting the cooling breeze and the fragrance of freshly-cut grass on his tongue. His body is sprawled horizontally across the bright red plastic slide, gangly limbs dangling over each side. His eyelids are shut against the glowing sun positioned high in the sky, red flares dancing across his darkened vision.

Contentment is spending a lackadaisical summer afternoon at the playground, relishing the soothing warmth radiating from the heated plastic beneath him, his body completely slack, all of his worries dissolving into thin air.

‘Jongin! Come here,’ Luhan beckons from the playhouse, arms waving at the younger boy’s idle form. Jongin doesn’t want to move – he’s convinced that _this_ is the best sensation in the world, and he wants to spend every second possible reveling in the sheer pleasure of it.

But Luhan calls for Jongin again, luring him in with a voice laced with an unmistakable allure and promise of adventure, ‘Jongin, you _have_ to see this.’

Jongin sighs in remorse, heaving himself up from his position and scrambling back up the slide before gravity has him slipping down towards the mulch-covered ground.

Luhan’s hands are skimming over the plastic walls enclosing the topmost level of the playhouse. His eyes are darting from one coloured wall to another, as if he were searching for a cryptic code hidden beneath the vibrant exterior.

‘Hyung, what are you looking for?’ Jongin questions, eyebrows furrowed.

‘Come here, sit next to me. I want you to look for yourself,’ Luhan says, patting the spot next to him. Jongin shoots Luhan a perturbed look, but complies anyway, settling himself into a crosslegged position next to the older boy. Jongin scans the walls around him, eyes searching for whatever it is that Luhan is so enticed by.

‘What is there to see, hyung?’

Luhan shifts himself closer to the wall facing him, pointing out one of the many unintelligable fonts scrawlled on the surface. ‘Do you not see, Jongin? Where we are right now, this is a _secret_ room,’ he explains, doe eyes glittering with excitement.

‘What’s that written on the wall?’ Jongin asks, still unsure of what Luhan is referring to.

‘All these secret messages are a code,’ Luhan whispers, one hand cupping the side of his mouth. He gestures to the permanent ink scribbled on the walls around them, ‘And they were left here for _us_ to figure out!’

‘For… _us_?’ Jongin gawks, eyes widening in anticipation. ‘How do we- Do you know what they mean? _Who_ are they from?’

Luhan only shrugs. ‘I guess we should try to decipher the code first. After all, it’s one big mystery _waiting_ to be unraveled.’

He whips his head back to the wall, eyes squinting, attempting to decode the illegible handwriting, ‘Well… This one reads, ‘C-A-L-L, space, 9-2-0-4-6– No, I think that’s an eight– 3-1-7, space, F-O-R, space, F-R-E-E, space, S-E-X…?’

Jongin tilts his head, unsure of what to make of the code. ‘Maybe each of the letters represents a word,’ he suggests, ‘And perhaps the numbers are… coordinates!’ Luhan ignores him, his nose inches from the wall, studying the code under closer inspection.

‘Hyung, if you get any closer, you’re going to get crosseyed–’

‘That’s it!’ Luhan interjects. ‘We’re supposed to _call_ the number, duh,’ he states, as if it were as obvious as the answer to one plus one.

 _Oh_ , Jongin thinks, _duh_.

‘And what happens if we call?’ Jongin asks. ‘What does ‘free sex’ even _mean_?’

Luhan is already clambering towards the hash of intersecting nylon ropes, lithe limbs climbing down without effort. He jumps off and hits the ground running, ‘I guess we have to go find out!’ 

So that is how the two young boys end up dashing into Luhan’s house (because it saves them an extra thirty seconds of running than if they had gone to Jongin’s), almost tripping over untied shoelaces and the exhilaration of suspense.

Luhan picks up the telephone receiver, intakes of breath tattered and irregular, and punches the digits into the number pad as Jongin rattles it off to him from memory.

The seconds tick by, punctuated with subsequent, sharp rings from the telephone speaker.

Jongin’s mind is positively spinning with possibilities. _What would they discover? Could this be Man’s first contact with the Unknown? Would they be hailed as ingenious, budding explorers that would open the floodgates to further research and lead expeditions to unchartered seas and remote islands?_

‘For fuck’s _sake_!’ Comes a highpitched shriek from the other end of the line. ‘This _isn’t_ a booty call hotline – for the last time, stop calling this number before I file a restraining order against you! And by the way, I can’t _believe_ I used to date your _sorry_ ass!’

And then the line goes dead. 

Luhan has one hand shielding his affronted ear from the onslaught of irate, piercing screeches. He turns to face Jongin, bewildered, ‘How are we supposed to decode _that_?’


	2. Track 2: I Wanna Hold Your Hand - The Beatles

Jongin is running up the stairs after Luhan, barely able to keep up with older boy.

‘Hyung!’ he rasps. ‘Slow down!’

‘We can’t afford to! Jongdae will be on our heels any second now – we need to find a good hiding spot!’ Luhan doesn’t tone down his pace, throwing his words over his shoulder carelessly. But when he glances back and notices Jongin faltering on a step, short legs unable to keep up with the older boy’s blundering speed, Luhan’s hand extends out, catching Jongin’s arm to intercept his fall.

Jongin looks up gratefully, but Luhan gives his arm a sharp tug, spurring both boys forward. Jongdae’s declaration of war resounds through the house, warning the boys that they don’t have even a split second to spare.

‘3… 2… 1! Ready or not, here I come!’ Jongdae laughs, feet padding quickly on the carpet, the Seeker springing into action.

Luhan has his fingers circled around Jongin’s small wrist, leading him into one of the doors in the hallway on the second floor. He puts a finger to his lips, forewarning the younger boy to stay silent. They slip into the bedroom, moving carefully, stealthily, and closing the door behind them without a sound.

Luhan pulls Jongin towards the wardrobe, turning the knob and stepping inside first. ‘Okay,’ Luhan whispers from his seat below the clothing rack, his voice only a breath. ‘Now you come in.’ 

‘Are you sure we should share the same hiding spot?’ Jongin reasons. ‘Jongdae will probably–‘ But Luhan pulls him in, sending the smaller boy tumbling into the wardrobe, and promptly clicking the wardrobe door shut.

‘It’s a good spot, Jongin,’ Luhan reassures, before shoving Jongin’s body weight off him unceremoniously. ‘He won’t find us anyway.’

Jongin falls to the side with an  _oof_. The space in the wardrobe is tight, even for two scrawny prepubescent boys. Jongin is shifting, orienting himself in the dark, adjusting to the musky scent of wood, dust, and freshly laundered clothes.

‘Hyung,’ Jongin grumbles. ‘It’s so cramp– mmffdd–’ Luhan slaps his hand over the younger boy’s mouth, effectively stifling his words.

‘ _Shhh!_  Do you want to get caught?’ Luhan chatises, pressing Jongin into a corner (not on purpose of course, since the wardrobe wasn’t exactly  _spacious_ ).

 _Luhan smells like homemade cookies_ , Jongin thinks wistfully, thoughts triggered by the close proximity,  _and his eyelashes are so long._

Jongin pinches Luhan’s side, sending the older boy into a fit of giggles.

‘Hey! That’s cheating,’ Luhan squeaks, pushing away Jongin’s culpable hands. ‘You know I’m ticklish.’

‘Uh, yeah, that’s the point, hyung,’ Jongin quips, eager fingers targetting Luhan’s stomach, ‘I know all your weaknesses!’ The scuffle continues like this, jostling each other in the constricted space of the wardrobe, the game of hide and seek long forgotten, lost between outbursts of unrestrained laughter.

It’s only ten minutes later when the rest of the birthday party attendants follow the traces of Luhan and Jongin’s voices through the hallway, finding the two boys entangled in a tickling match of the ages.

‘The game is already over,’ Jongdae stands infront of the cupboard, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. ‘But did you two want some more time alone, or…?’


	3. Track 3: Too Young - Nat King Cole

‘Hey! Don’t shine the light in my eyes, you dummy!’ Luhan swings his pillow at Jongin.

‘Sorry, hyung, but our fort requires urgent maintenance,’ Jongin smiles sheepishly, turning his flashlight to the makeshift bolster columns, which were sagging and drooping their blanket roof onto their heads.

‘All right, soldier. Let’s get back to work,’ Luhan commands, forcing his voice low, and Jongin returns a sharp salute.

The boys make quick work of it, stacking up pillows and spreading out quilts over comforters, renovating their shapeless and shabby pillow fort that would hopefully last the night.

Thunder roars outside, the rain like bullets against the windows. The boys are curled up in their cosy burrow, flashlights casting long shadows on the pillow walls. Both were on the brink of falling asleep, but they fought the drowsiness, trying to stay awake.

‘Are you sleepy, Jongin?’ Luhan asks, blinking slowly, hoping the younger boy would admit to it so they could both turn in for the night.

‘Mmm… Nope,’ Jongin denies, drawing a sigh from Luhan.

‘Hyung, I’ve been thinking,’ Jongin shifts under the layers of blankets. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’

Luhan smiles then, his eyes closed and expression peaceful. ‘I want to become a doctor,’ he divulges, snuggling his face into his stuffed deer toy, ‘I want to do something good, y’know? Help people.’

Jongin pouts into his pillow, muttering, ‘Won’t you have to go to school for forever to be a doctor? I wouldn’t get to see you anymore.’

Luhan scoots closer to the younger boy, noses almost touching. Jongin studies Luhan’s face, searching for an answer in the shadows.

‘Don’t worry, Jongin,’ Luhan finds Jongin’s hands, intertwining their small fingers. ‘You always worry.’

Luhan falls asleep shortly after that, but Jongin does not get much sleep that night.


	4. Track 4: I’m Confessin’ - Peggy Lee

‘It isn’t going to be that bad, Jongin,’ Luhan promises in a soothing tone. ‘You trust me, right?’

Luhan and Jongin are pushing their bikes along the sidewalk on the morning of Jongin’s first day in middle school. Jongin’s eyes are still puffy from crying and lack of sleep, having spent the previous night tossing and turning in bed, unable to unfurl the knots of anxiety building in his gut. Luhan glances over at Jongin, whose eyes are trained on the ground, feet reluctantly carrying him forward. Although Luhan is perhaps the only person he trusts more than anyone else, the younger boy stays silent.

Luhan sighs, ‘Middle school isn’t the easiest thing to get through, but look at me; I’m already halfway done. You can do it!’

Jongin isn’t so sure. He had always found it hard to fit in, never really establishing genuine relationships with his classmates. Elementary school had just been one long haul of uncomfortable situations, Jongin always feeling too self-conscious, too self-contained. After six long years and finally settling down into some sense of familiarity, here he was being dumped into an entirely foreign environment with new people. Jongin isn’t an especially cynical or morbid person, no, not at all, but he would much rather have his body thrown into a tank of numbingly cold ice water and be left to drown than to start attending middle school.

Luhan slings an arm over Jongin’s narrow shoulders, Jongin’s smaller frame fitting under it snugly. He squeezes Jongin’s shoulder encouragingly, turning to smile at Jongin’s glum pout, ‘It’ll be okay. If you think about it, we’ll be attending the same school again! You can come find me inbetween classes or call me with that new phone your parents got you whenever you want, and if our schedules match up, let’s eat lunch together.’

Jongin peeks through his fringe to look at the taller boy’s promising grin, heart swelling with gratitude, knowing he has such unfaltering support from someone as thoughtful as Luhan. Thinking about the prospects of middle school with Luhan by his side puts a skip in his step. He _had_ missed the times he got to see Luhan when they were both still in elementary school, perhaps this new school would turn out to be a positive development after all.

‘You’d do that?’ Jongin asks, feeling guilty that he might be a burden on Luhan.

Luhan only laughs, and Jongin’s doubts melt away.

‘Sure, and maybe if your lazy butt starts getting up on time, I’ll walk you to school every morning too,’ Luhan offers, putting a smile on Jongin’s face.

 


	5. Track 5: In Spite of All the Danger - The Beatles

Weekends are made of video games and junk food – a _lot_ of it. The coffee table is cluttered with scattered fragments of crushed potato chips, empty soda cans, and stacked pizza boxes.

Jongin’s parents are out for the night, and the two boys have the house to themselves.

Luhan dips his head back into the plush cushions on the sofa, sighing as the words _YOU LOSE_ flash on his half of the television screen, jeering at his lousy game play. He wouldn’t consider himself bad at playing _Halo_ , but Jongin was one hell of a sneaky sharpshooter. Luhan racks up a grand total of nine defeats and one measly win by the end of the night.

Jongin props his legs up on the coffee table, feet knocking over an empty plastic cup, brandishing a self-satisfied and unabashed toothy smile.

‘Wipe that cocky grin off your face, Kim Jongin,’ Luhan threatens. Jongin decides not to tell the older boy that he can’t take him seriously with his hair ruffled up like that, gravity-defying cowlicks sticking up at awkward angles. Luhan is sulking with his controller in his lap, sitting crosslegged amongst a dozen crumpled potato chip packages litering the sofa.

‘Why? Does it bother you?’ Jongin jests, chuckling brazenly. He lies back leisurely, putting his hands behind his head. _Ah, to bask in the glory of defeating Luhan._ No matter how many times Jongin manages to singlehandedly pulverize the older boy at _Halo_ (or any video game, really – just name it), it never gets old.

His thoughts are interrupted when a cushion comes flying right into his face.

‘You won just because you got lucky,’ Luhan claims, arms folded.

‘Did I ‘get lucky’ the past… thirty-seven times too?’ Jongin asks, unable to fight back the laugh that comes tumbling deep from his gut. ‘Not that I’m keeping count or anything.’

Luhan brings his hands to his face, massaging his temples, because _thirty-seven times?_ He’d pressumed that the younger boy would have lost count at fifteen.

‘It’s not your fault you keep losing, hyung. It’s me,’ Jongin confesses, sighing regretfully. ‘I’m just too _good_.’

Luhan sends another cushion airborne, aiming straight for Jongin’s patronizing smile. The thing is, although Jongin’s virtual shots rarely miss, Luhan has a hell of a throw.

‘Whatever, let’s go again,’ Luhan challenges, placing his feet on the carpet and resting his elbows on his knees, his controller fitted comfortably in his hands. ‘I’m _so_ gonna win this time.’

Jongin has to choke back a laugh, but he picks up his controller again and easily finds the restart button onscreen, ‘Alright, you’re on.’

They battle like this, sharing the sofa, shouting at the screen occasionally whenever they narrowly manage to escape virtual death.

‘Hyung, you’re making this easy…’ Jongin warns, as his character creeps up from behind, shotgun loaded, barrel angled straight for the chest of Luhan’s character. He is a moment away from pulling the trigger with a push of a button, but then his controller is gone, swiped from his possession.

Jongin opens his mouth in protest, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is an _oof!_ as he has the wind knocked out of him, Luhan’s body weight crashing down on his chest. 

Luhan lets out a comically diabolical laugh having seized hold of Jongin’s controller, waving it in the air victoriously.

‘I _told_ you I’d win!’ Luhan announces smugly, sending Jongin’s character toppling over the edge of a cliff. Nothing spells _utter defeat_ better than a character suicide.

‘Hyung! You cheated!’ Jongin gasps from under Luhan in disbelief.

‘Uh, _yeah_ , that’s the point,’ Luhan winks. ‘I know all your weaknesses!’


	6. Track 6: Strangers in The Night - Frank Sinatra

‘I need to leave.’

Those were the words Luhan had told Jongin on the phone that night, when he had asked Jongin to meet him by the entrance of the golf course a little ways from their neighbourhood. 

Jongin had gone to meet Luhan, of course, even though it had been minutes from midnight, and his parents had long fallen asleep. There was something in Luhan’s voice that had him really worried. He had sounded so… broken.

When Jongin had walked up to Luhan’s slumped silouette leaning against the fence with hands tucked into his jacket pockets, he had sensed that something was different, although he couldn’t quite place it. Luhan hadn’t uttered a word upon Jongin’s arrival, only reaching out to take the younger boy by the hand and leading him into the golf course.

Jongin had been too concerned over why Luhan would be acting this way to feel any alarm that his best friend seemed to be familiar with trespassing on private property (in the eerie hours of the night, no less). The thought of asking why Luhan had brought him here out of the blue just never occured to him. He stayed silent, lacking the confidence that he had the right words to coax Luhan out of his low spirits.

Together, they threaded through the dewy fields wordlessly, crossing over synthetic mounds and shallow basins. With nothing but the full moon illuminating their path, they wander deeper and deeper into the vast expanse.

Luhan stops, taking off his jacket and kneeling down to spread it out on the grass. He lies down on it, leaving some space next to him. ‘Lie down with me, Jongin,’ he whispers. 

Jongin’s vision had adjusted to the dark by now, and he looks around, taking in the sheer expanse of the golf course. There is nothing but dwarfed hills and shallow depressions, the landscape completely desolate with the exception of a few palm trees scattered around, everything cloaked in twilight. It was tranquil, almost dream-like.

He takes off his own jacket and settles down next to Luhan, pulling the soft material over Luhan and himself, shielding them from the chilly wind. They are quiet for a while, drinking in the wide sea of stars dotting the night sky.

Before Jongin could muster up enough courage to break the silence, Luhan raises a pointed finger to the cloudless sky. ‘That’s the Orion’s Belt. Do you see it, Jongin?’ Luhan asks, eyes still fixed upon the constellation.

Jongin turns his attention away from the older boy and follows the direction in which Luhan has his finger pointed to. He has never seen the night sky like this, so brilliantly speckled with countless stars. ‘What does it look like?’

‘There are three stars,’ Luhan whispers, his voice almost inaudible as the wind rustles through the trees. ‘They are all lined up in a straight line.’

Luhan tilts his head towards Jongin, continuing as the younger boy searches the sky, ‘I always thought that was so phenomenal. So… miraculous. In the disarray and intersperse of millions of stars, there are those three – Orion’s Belt – aligned in an almost perfect line. Is that a coincidence, Jongin?’

 _Luhan is right_ , Jongin thinks, staring hard into the sky, focusing on the muted shine emitting from the row of stars. ‘They are breathtaking,’ Jongin agrees.

‘Yeah,’ Luhan replies, sounding disengaged from the conversation. ‘They really are.’

Luhan shifts around, fishing out a rectangular object from his jeans pocket. He plugs in a pair of earphones into the device, holding up an earbud to Jongin, ‘Take this.’

Jongin complies without hesitating, and Luhan continues to explain. ‘It’s pretty old, but it was… a gift,’ pressing down on the device that Jongin recognizes as a cassette player.

A dulcet tune begins to play, and a deep, mellow voice starts singing a song unfamiliar to Jongin’s ears.

_Strangers in the night, exchanging glances._  
_Wandering in the night; what were the chances?_  
_We’d be sharing love before the night was through._

Luhan begins to sing along as well, and Jongin is afraid to speak, fearful that the older boy may get flustered and stop. Because Luhan’s voice is like the velvet night, tracing every contour of the melody, saccharine and intimate. Jongin pulls out his earpiece furtively, careful not to get caught. He angles his head towards Luhan, noticing the way moonlight catches on his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips. This is Jongin’s first time listening to Luhan sing, and he finds himself silently hoping that it wouldn’t be the last.

_Something in your eyes was so inviting, something in your smile was so exciting._  
 _Something in my heart told me I must have you._

They spend the night like this, going through Luhan’s mixtape playlist over and over until they wake up to the sunlight peering over the horizon, shades of morning permeating into dusk and dusting the sky in soft yellow and pink hues.

As they thread home, the streets devoid of cars, the neighbourhood completely quiet, Luhan gives the cassette player to Jongin, with the mixtape inside.

‘I want you to keep it for me,’ Luhan says, making Jongin promise.

‘Until when, hyung?’ Jongin asks, rubbing his eye with one hand and taking the cassette player in his other.

Luhan smiles and pats down Jongin’s bed hair. ‘Until the time is right.’


	7. Track 7: Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Ella Fitzgerald

‘My mother told me that it would be around the corner somewhere,’ Luhan says, looking around the train station.

‘I don’t get it,’ Jongin groans, shaking his head. ‘Why did you have to drag me along? You’re just taking a few ID photos, right?’ 

‘Yeah, but it wouldn’t be any fun going home alone after, would it?’ Luhan responds, tugging on Jongin’s uniform sleeve. ‘Anyway you can stop grumbling now, you big baby. I found it!’

‘Why do you need these again?’ Jongin questions, watching Luhan slip a five dollar bill into the photo booth machine.

‘I’m graduating soon, and apparently high schools don’t want their students walking around with their chubby 12 year-old faces printed on their ID cards.’ 

Jongin tries to ignore the stab in his chest. Time had flown by too quickly, and in a few months, Jongin’s morning walks to school would be solitary again, and Luhan would be attending another school, meeting new people, growing into an adult.

Luhan takes a seat in the booth and adjusts his school uniform, smoothing out the wrinkles on his blazer and straightening out his tie. Jongin decides to lean against the booth on the outside, and Luhan draws the curtains in the booth closed. 

Jongin hears Luhan fumbling with the buttons, and the younger boy calls out. ‘Hyung, press the blue one.’

‘The blue one?’ Luhan repeats, ‘There’s isn’t a blue one, I’ve pressed all the– Oh.’ _Beep._

‘Please sit up straight and look into the camera,’ the feminine voice instructs from the speaker. ‘Your photo will be taken in 3, 2­–‘ 

The flash goes off once, and Luhan’s smile is picture perfect, hair coifed to the side, not a strand out of place.

Jongin pulls the curtains aside. The flash goes off for a second time. 

‘Hey–!’ Jongin’s hip collides into Luhan’s, and Luhan is at a loss for words. The flash goes off for a third time.

Jongin has Luhan caught in headlock, eyes smiling, lips curled up like a cat’s. The flash goes off for the last time. 

‘Your photos are complete. Printing…’ The machine beeps, counting down the seconds before Luhan’s photos are to be collected. 

Luhan stares at the younger boy incredulously, who is too busy laughing his head off to notice. 

‘You– M-my pictures!’ he sputters. 

‘I kinda think I made them look better,’ Jongin observes, pulling out the printed photos from the machine. Luhan takes it from him, gaping at his own face, twisted in surprise and confusion, next to Jongin’s trademark toothy smile, caught in a laugh. 

‘And hey, look,’ Jongin points at the touchscreen. ‘We can even get you a little dog tag with your picture on it. Let’s buy one – I want _‘If found, return to Kim Jongin’_ engraved on it. And then you can hang it around your neck when you start attending high school. Nifty, huh?’ 

Luhan sniggers, ‘If you were going to miss me this much, you should have just said so.’ He pulls Jongin in, ruffling up his hair. ‘I’ll always be your best friend, you little brat. Don’t forget me.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Jongin nods with an offhand look on his face, thinking that _if it were one of us that would forget the other, you would forget me._

As they head home, Luhan cuts up the photo booth pictures, putting aside the first one for his ID card (as if the others were usable anyway). He gives the last frame to Jongin, because _I was really ugly in the other two, okay!_ Jongin only agrees, earning himself a punch in the arm. 

‘Hyung, you have to keep the rest. Don’t lose them.’ 

Luhan shoots the younger boy a reassuring smile, holding up a pinky, ‘I promise.’


	8. Track 8: Fools Rush In - Frank Sinatra

Jongin sits in a classroom hunched over his desk, his hands holding up his head. It was five minutes from six o’clock, and the light from the setting sun streaming in through the windows was beginning to saturate into a deeper orange.

The classroom was dreadfully silent, except for the occasional rustle of paper, and the maddeningly slow tick of the wall clock.

 _Had_ it been his fault that he was running late to school that morning? Perhaps his homeroom teacher would say _yes_ faster than Jongin could explain, but in truth, the world just wasn’t in Jongin’s favour today. 

The morning had been a string of unfortunate events, from spending the wee hours searching for his misplaced tie, running back home from the bus stop to retrieve his forgotten homework, consequently missing his bus, to stepping on a _freaking_ puddle while running to school. Jongin was sure some omnipresent being was at play, messing with him and purposefully trying to get on his nerves, because _seriously? A puddle?_  

Jongin sighs, thinking it would be much more productive spending the evening at home writing the economics paper he has due _tomorrow_ , rather than serving detention in this dingy old classroom. As if seven hours of school a day weren’t taxing enough. 

At that moment, Jongin’s phone vibrates. He takes a moment to thank every deity he knows that he had remembered to switch it to silent mode. _Amen._ He looks up to check that the teacher in charge hadn’t somehow heard it before sliding the device out of his pocket, reading that it’s a message from Luhan. 

 _Detention, huh? Bad ass!!! I’m at the playground right now_  

Jongin rolls his eyes, but quickly texts back, _I’m almost done, wait for me,_ before pocketing the phone again. Just as the bell rings, signalling that detention was over, Jongin thinks, _I guess the econs paper has to wait._  

Luhan is sitting on the swings, dangling his feet back and forth. Jongin walks up to him, automatically taking the swing beside him. 

‘What did you get into trouble for?’ Luhan asks, ‘Did you upskirt a girl? Cheat on a test? I wouldn’t put it past you to start a food fight in the cafeteria either, honestly.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Jongin deadpans, ‘But I was late for school this morning.’ 

‘Ah, of course, how could I – of all people – forget that Kim Jongin prioritizes beauty sleep over everything else?’ Luhan clucks his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment at himself. 

‘Shut up,’ Jongin says, kicking at Luhan’s swing and sending him in an awkward orbit, ‘Anyway, what did you call me here for?’

‘I don’t know, I kinda wanted to–’ Luhan blurts out, but then quickly stopping himself, ‘Never mind, it’s a stupid idea, forget it.’

‘Hyung!’ Jongin whines in indignation, ‘You can’t _do_ that. When you say something, you have to finish it!’ He _hates_ it when Luhan cuts his sentences short, it always made him feel as if the older boy were keeping something from him.

Luhan sighs, exasperated, ‘Alright, alright!’ He slings off his backpack from his shoulders, searching through the pockets. ‘Don’t… Don’t say anything first,’ he mutters.

Jongin’s eyes go wide when he looks at the palm-sized box Luhan recovers from his backpack, ‘Why– How did you–?’

Luhan interrupts quickly, ‘I said not to say anything first! I just… took it, okay? My dad leaves his cigarette packs everywhere, so I just– It was just lying there so I took it.’

Jongin gives Luhan a reproachful look, but stays silent, urging the older boy to continue.

Luhan uncaps the pack, pulling out a slender, white roll of tabacco, twiddling it with his svelte fingers. ‘He always smokes after he’s had a bad day at work – or when he’s not feeling too good. It smells pretty foul, but you get used to it.’

‘Are you… not feeling too good?’ Jongin asks, wanting to hear Luhan’s answer.

Luhan pulls out a lighter from his pocket, turning to face Jongin. ‘I haven’t tried it, I swear. But… it can’t be that bad, right?’ he asks, ignoring Jongin’s question, ‘Adults do it all the time, and it’s not like it’s illegal _drugs_ or something.’

Jongin speaks up before thinking, instinctively trying to prevent the growing look of apprehension on Luhan’s face, ‘I’ll try it. I’ll try it with you. That’s what you want, right?’

‘Yeah, I guess,’ Luhan gives Jongin a lopsided smile, and turns back to light up the cigarette, ‘I was afraid to do it alone. Let’s just share one.’

‘Ugh– You’re right, it reeks,’ Jongin says, bringing a hand up to his nose. The stench was thick and suffocating, but Luhan didn’t seem to have a reaction to it.

Luhan holds the cigarette up to his lips, the paper roll between the tips of his forefinger and thumb, the way he had seen his father do so many times before. His lips part slightly, taking in the filtered end of the cigarette. He sucks in air, watching the other end of the cigarette flare, the feeling of ashy smoke building up in his mouth and clogging up the back of his throat. When he tries to inhale to push the smoke back into his lungs, his gag reflex triggers and suddenly he’s coughing like he has a _really_ bad case of chronic bronchitis or something.

Jongin is standing by his side in a second, stifling a laugh and crouching over Luhan as he retches ( _how attractive_ , Luhan thinks), patting his back soothingly. 

‘Ha. Ha,’ Luhan chokes out, offering Jongin the lit up cigarette. ‘I tried it,’ He mumbles in between coughs, ‘Your turn.’

Jongin takes it from him, still chuckling at the memory of Luhan’s attempt at smoking. Although Jongin doesn’t know why, he feels relieved now, having witnessed Luhan’s plan completely backfire on him. He’s going to enjoy making Luhan’s life miserable by bringing up this episode at every chance he gets for at least the next five years. 

At first, it felt strange having the roll of nicotine suddenly so accessible to him. He somehow felt older. He puts the cigarette between his teeth without hesitation, the curiousity becoming too overwhelming. _Isn’t this supposed to be an indirect kiss or something?_ Jongin wonders absentmindedly. 

But then he takes a deep breath in and immediately regrets it – the sensation burning up his throat. 

He tosses the cigarette butt on the ground, immediately stubbing it out with his shoe. He spits, trying to get the bitter, rancid taste out of his mouth. ‘Yuck,’ he concludes, ignoring Luhan’s loud guffaws.

‘You should have seen your face!’ Luhan laughs, slapping his thigh, his quavering body almost losing balance and falling off the swing. 

‘I’m sure it _couldn’t_ have been any worse than yours,’ Jongin retorts, picking up the cigarette and walking over to a nearby trash can to toss the damn thing into the ashtray, ‘You looked like you were about to pass out.’ 

‘Did not!’

‘Did too!’ 

‘Whatever,’ Luhan says, fishing out the cigarette pack from his backpack, ‘If this is what smoking is like, my dad should consider quitting.’ 

And with that, the pack goes into the trash can, and the pair walk home as the evening turns into night.


	9. Track 9: Can’t Take My Eyes Off You - Jersey Boys

‘How does this look?’ Luhan asks, stepping out of the changing room. He’s dressed in a pinstripe suit, which slumps sloppily over his shoulders. 

‘Bad,’ Jongin admits, ‘You look about two seconds from being swallowed whole by that jacket.’ 

Luhan groans, ‘I’ve tried like a _gazillion_ suits already! The only reason why I asked you to accompany me is because I thought you would be more cooperative than my _mother_.’ 

‘Hyung,’ Jongin says, pushing the older boy back into the changing room, ‘You’ve tried _two_ suits on. Try the next one.’ 

Luhan grumbles but complies anyway, locking the changing room door shut. 

‘So… Who are you taking to the dance?’ Jongin asks, fiddling with the loose threads on the end of his shirt. 

‘What? You mean my date?’ Luhan shouts back, voice muffled through the door. 

‘I mean– Like, yeah,’ Jongin stutters, trying to keep his voice even. _Why am I so damn curious anyway?_ Jongin thinks, berating himself for being so worked up about it.   _It wasn’t like it mattered… Right?_

In truth, it was _all_ Jongin could think about lately, and it took nearly all of his will power to hold himself back from straight up interrogating the older boy for being so damn _vague_ about it. 

With the dance only a couple of days away now, Jongin had started to get antsy, especially since Luhan never made mention of bringing a date to his high school graduation prom.

‘Don’t you have to– I don’t know,’ Jongin stammers, punching himself in the face mentally, ‘Coordinate your outfit with your date?’ 

Honestly, Jongin hadn’t put it past Luhan to show up in a regular pair of jeans and an embarrassing old sweater, date or no. School functions just never really meant much to either of them, anyway. _I mean, we spent this year’s pep rally at McDonald’s,_ Jongin cringes at the memory. _We don’t even like McDonald’s._  

Jongin had been rudely awakened that morning when his phone’s ring went off. Although his mind was still hazy from sleep, he caught the gist of Luhan’s request between outcries of disappointment, ‘How was _I_ supposed to know there was a dresscode?’ and ‘They won’t even let you access the buffet table if you aren’t dressed up all fancy!’ This is how Jongin ends up spending his precious Saturday morning in a tuxedo rental store with a disgruntled Luhan. 

Before Jongin receives an answer, Luhan tumbles out from the changing room. He stands upright, dusting off invisible specks of dust from the sleeves of his suit. Firstly– _Whoa. Nice_. 

Jongin takes his time to appreciate how the collar grazes his neck, white dress shirt cascading down his chest, immaculate blazer hugging his shoulders, freshly pressed trousers straight and sleek. Lastly, Jongin’s eyes graze over Luhan’s dirty red sneakers, but he chooses to ignore that. 

Luhan tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, posing dramatically for Jongin. He opens his mouth to speak, but Jongin interjects, ‘If you make a bad James Bond joke, I’m going to punch you.’ 

Luhan’s mouth snaps shut. 

‘Hyung, you _have_ to choose this one,’ Jongin insists, hands automatically reaching out to fix Luhan’s crooked tie. _Even though I won’t get to see it on you again_ , he thinks, feeling a pang of jealousy. 

‘Alright, whatever you say,’ Luhan singsongs, ‘By the way, I don’t have a plus one.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘I don’t have a plus one,’ Luhan repeats, ‘Oh! Hey, Jongin, wanna come with?’

Jongin does a double take, panicking. His mind is reeling with questions: _Is he asking me out? Don’t people usually only ask people they like to prom?_  

Luhan misinterprets Jongin’s distressed silence as hesistation, and kneels down on one knee theatrically, holding Jongin’s hand in his. ‘Come with me! It’ll be fun, I promise!’ He pleads. 

Jongin recoils from the touch, jerking his hand back and fumbling for words, ‘Uh– Yeah, I mean, I think I’m free…?’ _Way to go, Kim Jongin. How smooth._  

Luhan springs up from the ground, elated, ‘Great! It’s decided. I’ll pick you up at seven.’ And Jongin can’t help but blush at that, because _ew it sounds like a date._  

\--- 

Prom night goes a little like this. 

They raid the buffet table, spill the punch, and then there’s the _dancing_. 

Jongin is a bundle of nerves the whole night, all sweaty palms and faltering words, but when he sees Luhan dance, _oh God_. 

The younger boy chooses to prioritize his own safety, picking a spot out of harm’s way – which so happens to be beside the punch bowl – berating himself for having _any_ kind of connection to Luhan, because _why do I associate myself with someone who poses as a risk to everything and everyone within a five meter radius when he dances?_

Luhan is in the centre of the hall, limbs flinging in all directions, passionately dancing to the latest pop songs blaring from the speakers. Jongin has to refill his red disposable cup every five minutes just to avoid looking suspicious for standing by the end of the buffet table for so long. Hopefully the other students think he just really likes the punch or something. But Luhan looks _so_ ridiculous that Jongin can’t help but break into a smile as he watches the older boy have the time of his life.

Jongin finds himself thinking about Luhan graduating and moving on to college. He feels a wave of dread come over him, but manages to suppress it. He’ll mull over it some other night. Just not tonight. 

‘Jongin!’ Luhan calls out, ‘Dance with me!’ 

 _What the hell_ , Jongin decides, throwing his cup into the trash. _I’m gonna miss this dork way too much when he leaves._ Jongin ignores the past experiences with social anxiety resounding like alarms in his head, and stalks onto the dance floor to join the older boy. 

Their choreography includes stepping on too many shoes and even kicking a few shins, but at least everyone makes it out alive by the end of the night. 

As the dance draws to a close, a few student volunteers hold up a camera and offer to take a photo of them as a keepsake. They decide why not, naturally slinging their arms over one another, faces wreathed in the happiest smiles.  



	10. Track 10: Wonderful Wonderful - Johnny Mathis

‘What’s ‘love’ like?’

Jongin’s mother takes a seat next to the boy on the bed, holding his hands in her smaller ones. Jongin was so tall now, all sharp jawline and broad shoulders, finally starting to fill out his lanky frame. Her baby boy was growing up.

‘I’m sure you’ll know when you feel it,’ she guarantees, fingers grazing over his knuckles soothingly, ‘When you’re in love, you become a better person. Occasionally, it makes you giddy and reckless, but you also become selfless, caring, and patient. You don’t need to be in a rush when it comes to love; True love blooms in its own time.’

Jongin is silent for a while, thinking.

When Jongin had first started attending middle school, he had relied on Luhan as a pillar of moral support. Now that Jongin was moving on to high school, he no longer felt like he needed Luhan’s presence that way – as a buffer, a safety net.

Luhan going off to college felt _different_ somehow. Although Jongin still considered Luhan to be the one person he could always trust and depend on, the younger boy had slowly developed over the years, becoming more independent. And yet he still selfishly wishes to have Luhan by his side.

He’s confused – but the one thing he can be sure of is that he’ll miss the older boy more than he can bear to think about.

 


	11. Track 11: You Really Got A Hold On Me - Smokey Robinson & The Miracles

Luhan is on the floor of his bedroom, stuffing his luggage with all the neccessities he needs for his new dorm room. 

‘Jongin, help,’ he gasps, putting his full weight onto the mountain of clothes. 

Jongin peers down from his comfortable position on Luhan’s barren mattress, dropping his book down on his chest. ‘You seem to be doing alright without my help, actually,’ he observes, reluctant to move from his spot. 

‘You suck,’ Luhan deduces, letting out a huff as he successfully manages to zip his luggage shut. 

There’s a pregnant pause, and room is quiet for a while, both boys indulging in whatever time they had left together before Luhan moves out the next morning. 

‘It’ll be alright,’ Luhan answers Jongin’s silent question, his tone unconvincing, ‘Don’t worry about it. My new school isn’t very far away – inconvenient, maybe, but it’ll be fine.’ 

The age gap between the two boys has never felt more pronounced. The future was uncertain this time, college wedging itself between the two. They had been practically attached at the hip since young, and now Luhan would only be available to return home during the weekends. Even then, Jongin doubted he would have the chance to catch up with the older boy, not intending to intrude on the little free time he has alloted to spending with his family. They _know_ this, but neither of them brings it up. 

‘I’m going to the college of my dreams!’ Luhan proclaims, suddenly all worked up, ‘I got a scholarship, and I’m finally going to start studying medicine like I’ve always wanted to. It’s a _good_ thing.’ Jongin isn’t sure who the older boy is trying to convince. 

‘Hyung, I’m happy for you,’ Jongin says earnestly, sitting up on the bed. ‘I really, really am. I’m _proud_ of you. You’re going to do well in college, I know.’

What he doesn’t say is, _I’m afraid you’ll forget me. I’m afraid I won’t be a part of your life anymore. I’m afraid because I love you._  

‘Thank you, Jongin,’ Luhan sighs. ‘Your words mean a lot to me.’

Jongin smiles ruefully, biting his tongue, keeping in the words he knows he’ll regret saying. ‘Anytime, hyung.’


	12. Track 12: Mona Lisa - Nat King Cole

His name is Park Chanyeol, and Jongin is bored.

‘Anyway, I _tried_ to apologize for accidentally spilling the coffee on him – it was at the busiest time of the day so the restaurant was _packed_ – but he wouldn’t have any of it. He even had the gall to ask me to pay for _dry cleaning_! How is a student in his senior year of high school supposed to afford that?’ Chanyeol almost tears his hair out, ranting his latest instalment of _Why it Freaking Sucks to Have a Part-time Job_.

Jongin crosses one leg over the other, bringing the straw of his apple juice box to his lips, his attention span quickly waning. _Why was he dating Chanyeol again?_  

They had been friends prior, but anyone who knew them would have pinned the two as mere acquaintances. But when Jongin had asked Chanyeol out on a whim one day, he never expected the taller boy to agree to it. Jongin always found Chanyeol _kind of_ cute, and his voice was pretty hot, but Jongin still isn’t sure where he pulled out that devil-may-care attitude from. It seems to be his default personality these days. Anyway, it just _happened_ , and now here they were, nearly one month later. Jongin was surprised that it managed to last so long this time. 

‘Are you even paying attention?’ Chanyeol asks from across the table. He’s leaning back in his chair, face stoic. Jongin doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes.

‘Yeah, I was,’ Jongin lies through his teeth, feeling slightly guilty. ‘The café is kind of loud today, sorry.’ 

‘Did you ignore all your exes like this too?’ Chanyeol asks, words callous and unforgiving. ‘Maybe that’s why all of them left you.’ 

Jongin laughs bitterly. ‘You’re right,’ he admits without missing a beat, voice void of remorse. Jongin barely noticed the exponential increase in exes he had been racking up, not even bothering to count how many there were. Maybe he wasn’t thinking. Maybe he just felt lonely. 

Chanyeol gets up without a word, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. 

‘Are you breaking up with me?’ Jongin asks Chanyeol’s retreating back. ‘Are you seriously leaving without paying? I forked out the bill last time!’

That earns Jongin a distasteful accusatory finger.

Jongin sighs, holding his head up in his hands and huffing at his fringe. He’s tired. The average lifespan of Jongin’s relationships were about two weeks – maybe Chanyeol was just happened to be abnormally tolerant.  _Or oblivious,_ Jongin adds as an afterthought.

He had realized a long time ago, exactly why he was doing this. There was no cut-off point for potential partners – boys, girls, it really didn’t matter to him. He went out with all of them anyway, but they were all _wrong_. 

 _You mean, they weren’t Luhan_ , he corrects himself. _No, shut up._

Was he _really_ talking to himself right now? He groans, getting up to pay for the bill. 

It has been a year and a half since Luhan had left for college, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of his little school boy crush. He hasn’t found anybody that could replicate Luhan well enough to replace him. 

The two would still met up sparodically, with too-long breaks in between. They hadn’t grown apart at all; They knew each other too well for that. Spending time with Luhan was never awkward, but one thing Jongin never dared to share was the huge crush he harboured for the older boy. The last thing he wanted was to become more of a burden on Luhan, bothering him with petty things while he was off in med school working his ass off every day. Jongin could never allow himself to interfere with Luhan’s dreams. 

Whatever time they had together, Jongin quietly appreciated, including little moments like Luhan falling asleep on his shoulder on the bus ride home, feeling the perfect weight of his head in the crook of his neck, Luhan’s raven hair caressing his cheek. He never had the audacity to wish for these moments to last a lifetime. 

But whenever they were together, the distance was there, looming over their heads like a painful reminder that they led separate lives now, schedules clashing, each meeting with one another becoming more inconvenient, out of the way. 

 _Maybe,_ Jongin thinks, _it was for the better._


	13. Track 13: Chances Are - Johnny Mathis

On the night of his graduating prom, Jongin finds himself wandering into the golf course with Luhan’s cassette player in hand and a bottle of cheap wine in the other, humming to the music streaming into his ears.

He has the playlist fully memorized now, every lyric, every note. He knows it like the back of his hand, the sequence of songs forwards and backwards, the number of unoccupied seconds of silence it takes for each melody to transition into the next.

The cloudless sky is just as brilliant as that night all those years ago, stars shining promisingly overhead. He had almost forgotten what it was like to look up and see the sky like this, immeasurable and unobstructed, spanning into infinity. He feels so small and insignificant. 

He finds the spot where they had spent the night, spreading out his jacket on the grass the way Luhan did. He lies down and closes his eyes, running one hand through his hair, wondering how many times the older boy had come here alone like this. Jongin can’t help but notice that the chorus of rustling trees and whistling breeze feel empty without Luhan’s voice singing in harmony.


	14. Track 14: Smoke Gets in Your Eyes - The Platters

‘What’s ‘love’ like?’ 

Luhan and Jongin are back at the neighbourhood playground, sitting on the ledge of the playhouse castle. The playground used to feel like a second home to them, spending as much time as they could exploring every single _inch_ of the plastic tricolour castle. Here, they were no longer kids – they were treasure hunters on a neverending quest for riches, bloodthirsty pirates that conquered the seven seas, noble kings that triumphed over vast kingdoms. Here, they were fearless. 

Things were different now. Jongin was hesitant, suddenly unfamiliar with the direction in which the conversation was heading. 

‘Um, love is…’ Jongin stalls, biting his lip in concentration, trying to recall the words his mother had told him years ago. _Why was Luhan asking me this? Why now?_ ‘It makes you um… reckless at times, maybe even careless and foolish. But you learn to become selfless and caring. Patient, too. And you can’t be hasty, because… True love blooms in its own time.’ 

‘Is that it?’ Luhan laughs begrudgingly, giving Jongin a contrite smile. It’s quiet for a while, Luhan allowing Jongin’s answer to sink in. ‘Remember the mixtape I gave you, Jongin?’ 

Jongin reaches instinctively for his bag, hand hovering over the pouch he always keeps the cassette player in, ‘Um… Yeah, hyung. Why? Do you want it back?’ 

Luhan’s eyes drop to the ground, his voice faint. ‘No, it’s not mine,’ he confesses, Jongin slightly taken aback by the reply. ‘It belongs to my mother. She gave it to me that night – right before I asked you to follow me to the golf course. After her divorce with my father was finalized.’

Jongin was dumbstruck, words not coming to him fast enough to form a cohorent response. How could he have been so _dense_? So completely unaware, especially after all these years? Had he always been that oblivious to Luhan’s situation? 

‘She was… crying. Packing up her things, telling me she still _loved_ him. I was so scared… Scared that she would leave me,’ Luhan chokes out. ‘The songs – on the mixtape – they were a collection of her favourites. Those were the songs my parents would dance to after dinner and a glass of wine, and I still remember the way they’d hold each other close, his hand on the small of her back, hers on his shoulders, swaying to the music late into the night.’ 

Jongin wavers, not knowing how to react. This was all new information to him. He was shocked that there was this huge chunk of Luhan’s life that he was unfamiliar with, especially something that held so much _weight_. Luhan knew _everything_ about the younger boy, and Jongin had _assumed_ that he knew everything about Luhan too. 

Jongin feels as if the ground has disappeared from underneath him. Suddenly, it made so much sense why Luhan had stopped inviting Jongin over to his house for dinner years ago, all the brusque, curt replies whenever anyone asks about his family, why Luhan’s father never showed up to parent-teacher conferences. It all added up, so painfully _obvious_ that Jongin felt ashamed for not putting the pieces together earlier. 

The older boy turns to face Jongin now, face contorted into a mix of anger and sadness. ‘Is _that_ what ‘love’ is, Jongin? If it is, I’ve decided that I want _nothing_ to do with it,’ Luhan says, almost sneering. 

‘Love,’ the older boy spits out, as if the word were vile, dirty, _murderous_ , ‘Is good for absolutely _nothing_. It gives people the power to hurt you. _Love_ is destructive.’ 

Jongin opens his mouth to disagree, because _no, love isn’t supposed to destroy. Love is healing, love is strength, love is hope for the future. Why can’t you see that I love you?_  

But Luhan intervenes, words like whetted claws, ‘He _hurt_ her, Jongin. I’d see the bruises on her arms when she rolls up her sleeves to cook dinner, the tears in her eyes when she tucks me into bed every night, whispering empty promises, assuring me that everything was alright. He still comes over sometimes, _to visit me_ , he says, but the fighting between them always gets _worse_ ,’ Luhan pauses to check his temper, wiping the hot tears from his eyes, ‘I can never forgive him for what he did to her. And I– I couldn’t protect her.'

There aren’t any words in the world that Jongin can think of to make the older boy feel better. Jongin looks at Luhan, the older boy’s expression exactly the same as all those years ago when they had met outside the golf course. He had been hurting, keeping it to himself for all this time. 

Jongin wraps an arm around Luhan protectively in an embrace, the other hand reaching out to pull the boy’s head into the curve of his shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ Jongin murmurs, words soft and assuasive, hand drawing soothing circles on Luhan’s back. ‘Thank you for telling me. You’re so brave, hyung. But you don’t have to be alone anymore.’ 

 _Love is patient,_ Jongin tries to say without words, holding Luhan closer.

Luhan starts to cry, body wracking with suppressed sobs, allowing himself to be vulnerable, shielded from the world in Jongin’s arms. The older boy feels lighter, as if a weight has been lifted from his chest, liberated from the confines of his untold secret. 

_And I will wait._


	15. Track 15: Someone To Watch Over Me - Ella Fitzgerald

‘Shit, I’m so sorry, Jongin,’ Luhan’s voice sputters over the speaker.

Jongin closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to curb the rising pressure in his chest. He’s standing outside their favourite record store alone, taking shelter from the rain. ‘That’s fine, hyung,’ he says tersely, immediately regretting the harsh tone. Hopefully Luhan couldn’t discern it from over the phone.

‘I just landed this new internship at the local hospital, and I volunteered to work overtime last night. I _just_ got up and… You _know_ that it takes over an hour to get there by bus,’ he explains, apologizing profusely, ‘I really overestimated myself, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even be making excuses.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I understand how tough med school is,’ Jongin replies, checking his watch. It was already three in the afternoon, and he had been waiting at the meeting point for forty-five minutes, unable to reach Luhan’s phone until now. ‘Anyway, I haven’t even left the house,’ he lies.

To Jongin’s chagrin, Luhan hears the heavy downpour over the phone. ‘You’re lying. I can hear the rain,’ the older boy says.

‘Bad connection,’ Jongin lies again, trying to cover up his embarrassment.

‘Fine… Whatever you say,’ Luhan concedes, ‘And I’m really, _really_ sorry, Jongin. Thank you for being so understanding. Rain check?’

‘Yeah,’ Jongin assures, looking up into the sky and wondering how long before the rain lets up so he can head back home. ‘Sure, hyung.’


	16. Track 16: What Kind of Fool Am I - Sammy Davis Jr

Jongin lets out a groan of frustration, running a hand through his messy hair. He pushes his prescription glasses up his nose bridge, rubbing his tired eyes. How long has he been sitting in front of his laptop? _Five hours? Maybe six?_ He gets up from his work table to pour himself another cup of lukewarm coffee, needing a short break. 

He slumps down on his unmade bed, sipping the bitter drink, picking up his phone and unplugging it from the charging wire. He notes the time on the screen. Three hours before sunrise, and coincidentally, to the submission deadline as well, but he was only halfway through writing his paper.

Living in the dorms felt so damn _lonely_ sometimes. Sure, there were all those parties with open invites extended to just about _anyone_ , but Jongin was never much of a socialite. He had a few close friends that he studied and hung out with occassionally, but he never bothered to put much effort into fraternizing with the other students when it had really mattered, and now his laziness was back to bite him in the ass. 

He didn’t really have anyone to count on, and tonight he happened to be feeling a little sentimental. He scrolls through his contacts list mindlessly, not realizing he had stopped to hover over Luhan’s name. 

 _Would he be awake right now?_  

They barely met up anymore, and recently, their cellphones would be the only way the two could stay in touch.

He taps on Luhan’s name, the phone immediately dialing the number. The ringing goes on for _too_ long, and Jongin panics, thinking he might be interrupting on Luhan’s well needed rest. _Shit–_  

‘Jongin?’ 

‘Hyung!’ Jongin blurts out, surprised that the older boy picked up. 

Luhan laughs at the astonishment in the younger boy’s voice. ‘I’m here.’ 

‘Um, you’re awake? I didn’t wake you, did I?’ Jongin asks precariously, setting his mug on the bedside table. 

‘No, it’s fine; I was just getting some revising done for my test tomorrow.’ 

Jongin nods in understanding, and then mentally slaps himself for forgetting that Luhan can’t see him. He’s exhausted. 

‘What about you?’ Luhan asks, after the momentary silence. 

‘I was up finishing a paper,’ Jongin replies. ‘And I wanted to hear your voice.’ 

 _Did I just say that out loud? Holy sh–_  

Luhan laughs again, unfazed by the comment. ‘I think you’re tired, Jongin. Maybe you should finish that paper tomorrow,’ he suggests. 

Jongin’s face heats up, thankful that Luhan can’t see him. But he feels a sudden stab of annoyance in his chest, and maybe it’s the lack of sleep and years of repressed affection talking, but in the spur of the moment, he asks, ‘Do you like me?’ 

‘Uh– Sorry?’ Luhan asks, flustered, unsure whether he had heard the younger boy correctly. 

Riding on the sudden surge of boldness, Jongin confesses, well aware that he would have to suffer the consequences later. He was so _tired_ , in some ways even sleep can’t fix. ‘I _like_ you, hyung. Do you like me?’ 

Jongin finds himself anticipating Luhan’s answer, even though the older boy’s next words have the potential to _break_ him. How long had he wanted to know how Luhan truly felt about him? _Now or never._  

‘What are you _saying_ , Jongin?’ Luhan lets out a nervous laugh, vibrations splintering in the younger boy's chest. ‘You’ve always been my best friend. I’m going to continue revising, okay? Let’s just… pretend you never called, all right? You must be so tired. Get some sleep while you can.’

Luhan says his goodbyes and well wishes before ending the call, promising to talk again soon. But Jongin is silent, wondering why his chest feels so empty.


	17. Track 17: Smile - Nat King Cole

Jongin tries to keep up. But college is a whirlwind of papers, projects, lectures, tutorials. He tries to balance his academic work with alloted free time to unwind, but school doesn’t always work that way. But Jongin gets through it eventually, graduating with honours, walking out unscathed with a fancy degree in tow. 

He quickly assimilates into work life straight after graduation, finding that most of his time becomes dedicated to getting to know new people and establishing professional relations, doing paper work, reading e-mails, attending meetings, calculating numbers, signing contract deals with clients. 

It wasn’t on purpose. His agenda had started filling up too quickly, barely leaving him any time to even _think_. He was constantly swamped with work, always one thing after another, and _perhaps_ he felt it happening in between his busy schedule.

But Kim Jongin falls out of love. It certainly wasn’t deliberate but… He doesn't fight it. He lets go.

The two weren’t boys anymore. They had adopted new social circles, immersed in their own jobs and personal lives. They had grown up, and somewhere along the way, they grew apart. 


	18. Track 18: In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning - Frank Sinatra

It's been said that humans have an average of fifty to seventy thousand thoughts a day.   
  
Today Luhan is one of them. It's fleeting, momentary, almost too quick to register before it's buried by other things - groceries running low, the growing pile of work on his desk, a mental note to pick up dry cleaning on Tuesday, _did I remember to lock the door before leaving the apartment?_ But that's all he is. A split second reverie, an incomplete thought, a wisp in the wind, intangible, out of reach.

Jongin is at a company party on a Friday night after work, celebrating the recent successful merger. The house is full of drunk laughter and clinking glasses sloshing with expensive champagne. Jongin finds himself in a corner, uninterested with the empty banter between his colleagues. He gazes into the empty glass in his hands, as if it might refill itself if he stares hard enough. Or maybe he’s just pretending not to notice the riveted look his boss’ secretary is giving him from across the living room. Either way, he needs another drink. 

Jongin has been single for a long time now. Alone, yes. But _lonely_? Perhaps, save for the occasional one-night stand. Jongin knows he isn’t completely _repulsive_. He’s tall, broad, exuding with conviction and eloquence, sharp-witted, posture always fixed in a self-assured poise. He knows all the right things to say, to keep you hanging on to every word. It was understandable that there were at least five people on his floor of the company building _alone_ that were actively pining for his attention. 

It’s no surprise, of course. Because although Jongin is great at doing his job, he’s even _better_ with people. And yet, the people he surrounds himself with are only resources to give him the upperhand in his line of work – nothing more, nothing less. Nobody ever gets too close, Jongin always sure to keep his relationships strictly about _business_ , anything but personal. He had climbed the ranks this way, utilizing his intelligence and youthful charisma, successfully securing a five-figure paycheck at the end of every month. He often left people wondering how had he achieved so much in such a short time. 

The secret is, Kim Jongin is a man who knows what he _wants_. And right now, he wants to go home. 

He sets his empty glass on the counter, exchanging brief goodbyes with his colleagues. He makes his way to the coat rack by the door, making sure to stop to smile and shake hands with the right people in thanks for the _wonderful evening,_ apologizing for his _premature leave_ , and _good night, have a great weekend._  
  
On the way home, he digs out the old cassette player from the bottom of his suitcase, plugging in his earphones and murmuring the familiar lyrics under his breath.  



	19. Bonus Track: Twilight Time - The Platters

Jongin’s tuxedo is tailor-made to fit his frame perfectly. He gives himself a once-over in the full-length mirror, readjusting the rose corsage in his breast pocket and fiddling with his personalized cufflinks. Finally satisfied with his appearance, he runs a hand through his brunette hair before stepping out of the hotel bathroom. 

The wedding is in full swing, the immodest ballroom hosting an army of busy waiters marching in and out of the kitchen doors, guests chatting amiably with one another, conversations flowing naturally as they wait for the ceremony to begin. Luxurious (and ridiculously huge, Jongin notes) Swarovski chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, chiffon and gold accents draping the walls, and a multitude of flower bouquets emphasizing the opulent affair. 

Jongin rejoins his table, which is still empty except for two middle-aged women, gushing about who knows what. He crosses his leg over the other, bringing a glass of water to his lips, trying to remember what convinced him to attend the wedding. 

He had come home one evening after work, exhausted and prepared to pass out on his couch, but the lavish, gold engraving printed on one of the envelopes in that morning’s pile of mail on his dining table had caught his eye.

He picked it up, wondering if the postman had mixed up his address with someone else in the apartment building. Living in sizable and luxurious apartment units boasting impressive views of the city skyline such as his, he had no difficulty understanding that his neighbours might frequently receive posh snail mail as such. 

But upon closer inspection, the envelope was addressed to the one and only _Kim Jongin_. 

Jongin sets his glass on his table, wiping his palms on his _Bottega Veneta_ trousers. When did his palms ever get sweaty?

‘Kim Jongin,’ a voice calls out from behind him, a voice so familiar, yet not familiar at all. ‘You got my invitation.’

Jongin turns around to face direction of the voice, matching it to a face he hasn’t seen in years. 

‘Luhan,’ Jongin says, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. 

Luhan smirks. ‘It’s Dr. Luhan now, actually,’ correcting Jongin. 

Luhan’s hair is no longer black, but a refreshing shade of ash blonde that, despite how strange and _new_ it looked to Jongin, complemented Luhan’s ivory skin well. Luhan looked radiant.

Jongin towered over him now, standing several inches taller as he rises to his full height, automatically extending a hand to Luhan. Luhan looks at Jongin’s hand incredulously before slapping it away and pulling in the taller man for a bone-crushing hug. Some things never change. ‘I’ve missed you, Jongin,’ he mumbles into Jongin’s shoulder, ‘Thank you for coming to my mother’s wedding.’ 

Jongin steps back, holding Luhan at arm’s length, appraising him in his immaculate suit. ‘You look great, hyung.’

‘As do you,’ Luhan says, returning the compliment genuinely. He ushers Jongin back to his seat and takes the one next to him. 

Jongin leans back, still unable to fathom the entire situation. The two men hadn’t spoken in years, but any unease he felt moments before had dissolved without a trace. 

‘Oh–' Jongin exlaims, self-assured composure faltering. He pulls out the old cassette tape from his jacket and slides it across the table to Luhan. ‘I just remembered– I mean, I found it lying around the house the other day– It would be a nice sentiment to have it returned to its original owner, I think. The time felt right.’ 

Luhan beams, mouth open in awe as he reaches over to pick the cassette tape up, opening it to find the same mixtape in it. ‘You _kept_ it?’ he asks, disbelieving. ‘I can’t believe it’s still in functioning condition.’

‘It’s not a big deal,’ Jongin says, not wanting Luhan to get too excited over it, ‘I… got it fixed.’ That’s the furthest he’s admitting to for now, not wanting Luhan to know that he had to send it in for servicing frequently just to keep it running all these years. 

‘Thank you, Jongin,’ Luhan says, grateful. He held the device in his hands tenderly, reminiscing everything the two had been through when they were younger. ‘I’ll pass it to my mother for you.’

‘So, your mother…’ Jongin begins, wondering where to start. There was so much he wanted to share, so many years they let pass by them. But he wanted to catch up on what he had missed in Luhan’s life first. He isn’t sure what to feel, but he decides to deal with the perplexing emotions later. Above all, Jongin wants to get to know his best friend again. 

‘She found someone,’ Luhan starts, a contented smile spreading across his face, absentmindedly playing with the tablecloth. _He looks so happy_ , Jongin observes. ‘He’s great for her– no, perfect, really. He takes good care of her, y’know?’ 

‘I’m happy for them,’ Jongin says, returning the blonde haired man a peaceful smile.

‘Back then, I didn’t believe him,’ Luhan says, looking up at Jongin, eyes glittering, ‘But someone really wise once told me that true love blooms in its own time.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


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